Confliction
by NocturnalLament
Summary: Torn between his dislike and affection and, admittedly, lust for 'Ryuzaki' - the mysterious, ebony-haired detective - Light Yagami is overwhelmed by his conflicting emotions toward the strange man... But is he the only one suffering from such a puzzling affliction? Lemons and Yaoi abound! - M for language and citrus fruits/scenes of an adult nature.
1. Musings

The line between life and death is a fickle one, often crossed by the deserving and innocent alike. This is a concept many of us claim to understand, yet the fragility of human life is not something our minds readily accept. this could quite possibly a result of our limited comprehension, or perhaps only a result of our instinctual aversion to death?Nevertheless, the capricious nature of our mortality is appreciated by few - and, despite his intelligent disposition, Light Yagami had rarely questioned his stability.

It was not until the fateful day he realized his murderous potential that the young man had truly fathom the fragility of human morality; the capability for violence that lies within. Of hatred and aggression yet with seemingly absolute intentions. To destroy yet create.

Despite the young mans recent abandonment of his memories - recollections of the supernatural and his murderous intentions - due to his relinquishment of the Death Note, these realizations plagued him still; dark and distant knowledge lurking in the depths of his hazy mind, often contemplated.

It is this fragility of state, this coupling of seemingly contradictory statements once more troubles him, as he sits before the long disregarded luminescence of his computer monitor - reflected in his unfocused russet eyes. upon the screen waits an unread email, likely detailing some inconsequential information pertaining to the Kira investigations.

However, this information seems oddly intriguing to the wild haired detective - oddly perched beside Lights comparatively immaculate figure - as he leans forward with utter disregard for the younger mans personal space, his wide, analytical eyes not a dissimilar colour to the sugar-coated licorice that hangs lazily from the side of his slightly parted lips.

"Light-kun must be awfully intrigued by this particular piece of data," states the man, as he reaches for more of the tar-like candy. "He has been staring at this email for the past twenty-two and a half minutes."

The auburn haired man releases an exasperated sigh, closes the window and shoots the detective a cursory glare before turning away from him, opening another program before trying to re-establish his prior chain of thought.

His previously calculated thoughts regarding the man beside him became more impulsive, tainted by pent-up frustrations.

This same man, revered as the great detective L (who dedicates a large portion of his time to his confectionery fetish, nonetheless), was infuriating beyond measure - a hypocrite and a liar and uncivilized. Light Yagami has spent much of his life in the presence of those he found disagreeable, yet the detectives abnormal traits and investigative methods are more than Light deems himself fit to handle.

If this man had been the average simpleton it could have been simple - but_ no,_ this man happened to be crushingly intelligent, with an intellect perhaps to surpass Light's own and deductive skills that he found both thrilling and intimidating. He was the man he had longed to meet since a very young age - someone he could regard as an equal.

The man was intriguing to say the least, but the clashing of their wits and the mans asinine mannerisms, combined with his stubborn suspicions cause light to be sure that he hates L. No, perhaps even to loathe him.

He is certain, he hates this man.

...

So what was the source of these abnormal emotions?

The uncertainty is troubling for Light, to put it lightly. This misplaced confusion, the sudden longing for the mysterious man that runs contrary to logic. This sudden confliction disturbs him deeply. Considering the situation (and the metal chain that links them both), he both fears and yearns to understand his all-consuming emotions.

The situation, it seems almost paradoxical. Two such contradictory emotions surely should not be harboured toward one individual. Life and death. Fear and Joy. _Hatred and love?_

This... affliction, this sudden and heated need, threatening to deceive and consume -

"What have you done to me, Ryuzaki?"


	2. Hot and Dangerous

- Light -

God damn it. I told myself I'd get some work done today, be productive. I just can't concentrate - not with you beside me.

It's been two hours since I wrote anything, yet you don't seem to notice today, utterly preoccupied with the blessing of snacks Watari has bestowed on you. We were running low and I feared we would have a situation, yet you sit devouring your prey with newfound fervour. I sit fascinated as you rapidly digest the feast before you - crumbs slithering into the cracks in your overused keyboard as I watch you demolish box after box of panda cookies, watching your tongue slide from between your lips as you retrieve another sugar-laden sweet from the large bowl at your feet.

You finish it all within a few hours, your skilled mouth dancing over each piece of confectionery. I seem to share your oral fixation today, as I find myself chewing at my lip in a vain attempt to distract myself from what you're doing to me.

I can't control it, yet you're so oblivious to my needy stare that it almost makes you seem innocent. I think perhaps part of me wants you to know about... whatever 'it' is. It surpasses lust in a way that I have never truly experienced, and it fills me with dread. I am reluctant to name these abnormal emotions, as I fear what I might say.

I'm losing it. The control that keeps me safe, my rational mind has no say in such matters and I loathe that you take this from me.

...

It is long after the other task members retreat to their suites that you allow me to sleep. You reluctantly shuffle into the elevator, the chain that confines us both is taught as you follow me, your evident disdain accentuated by the slight pout on your enticing lips.

"it is preposterous to go to bed so early." You protest, I find your aversion to sleeping amusing but I'd hate to let you win and spend another day sleep deprived, so I don't entertain your frustrations and lean against the mirrored walls.

Everywhere I look I see your reflection, And that night, once my eyes close heavily, All I see is you.

- Ryuzaki -

A dream - not an ambition, or a desired ideal, no.

I lay, surrounded by grass and trees. The swift scent of mowed grass and cherry blossoms dance through the air, sweet-tasting particles carried amongst bursts of wind.

Stunned, I simply lie, enjoying the unusually vivid hypnagogic hallucinations that lull me into a beguiling state of relaxation.

Then my rational mind catches up and I realize how wrong this is.

Where are the bells? The fear? the ghosts of my past, hypothetical skeletons from hypothetical wardrobes?

And then I see him, and the pink blossom petals gather at my feet, buildings grow around me and crowds of well dressed, buzzing students congregate in the distance.

It's the day we met.

I look up to him, instinctively knowing his location, and he stands - charming - hand outstretched and beckoning. I approach him, why does he stand now, awaiting me?

Our eyes meet, his eyes alluring and inviting. His unknown intentions thrill me, yet also fill me with questions. I warily approach, but I feel myself being pulled forward by some dark impulse; no urge to deny it now.

I reach you, extending my pale arm, feeling it against your slightly tanned skin. A perfect tessellation of flesh.

A warm liquid seems to materialize on his palms - no, it was already there, I simply did not see it.

It runs down our arms, liquid scarlet, deep and rich and inviting. Tempted, I raise his hand to my lips and the copper floods my mouth; salt and iron, hot and vital.

He throws his head back, filling my ears with a pained groan, startling me.

My eyes tear open, weary and disoriented from the shroud of slumber. I do not like this feeling, fatigued and vulnerable.

The sound hits me again - a hurried moaning, quivering breath. Intrigued (and admittedly somewhat concerned), I turn to the sleeping man beside me.

My breath catches in my throat as i see him. Splayed out haphazardly, perfect auburn hair plastered to his forehead and body slick with a feverish sweat. He shifts, fingers entwined in the sheets, and murmurs something once more.

I exhale, pleased I did not wake him. He moans again, clearly immersed in his own slumber.

Entranced, I lie still as his breathy moans become more frequent and desperate - I shift uncomfortably now, the unfortunate tightening of my trousers becoming unbearable, painfully evident.

I pull at the tight cloth, eager to conceal my growing interest. frustrated by my futile efforts, I decide on a more... agreeable tactic to alleviate the situation.

i slide my hand across my stomach, slowly inserting my hand, I quietly move past my waistband.

This is wrong - since my pathetic excuse for a childhood, it had long been established that any form of emotional involvement is to be avoided at all costs. why is it, now, that this man and likely mass murderer rouses such intense, long avoided sensations? I bite my lip, torn between reason and emotion. My logical mind fights for dominance, as my growing lust consumes me.

My sensitivity is surprising, as I momentarily withdraw my hand at the almost painful stimulation. I have engaged in such acts before - I am aware of my bodily needs, and I have amused them in the fear of the rash impulses that follow if I didn't. But this... this blinding need takes control, the forceful current pulling me into uncharted waters.

The intensity of my sudden arousal startles me, yet I am driven by a unfamiliar yet animalistic need.

As he moans, I set a steady rhythm - synchronizing our hurried breaths. His back arches slightly, emitting more delicious whimpers.

Beside myself, i respond with a heated sigh. This is absolutely inappropriate, and i cant help but hate how that only serves to increase my arousal, his every breath accentuating the savage fire within.

"L!" light breathes, voice shaking - and I tense, expecting him to hit me or yell, I'd deserve it - but he just sighs my name once more, moaning sensually.

A bead of sweat traces the frame of my neck as I shudder, shattering this stupid illusion of self-control. I don't care anymore - take it. I just need to feel this... I want to feel you and your so damn fuckable I don't even know what to do because you're right here yelling my name and I - I just- oh god! and then you moan loudly and I just lose myself - feral and passionate, and I claw at the sheets as you moan my name, finding a release that is hot and sweet and dangerous.

I lie, panting in my ruined underwear, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what I did, with you right there - and I'm not sorry, which confirms that you've finally driven me mad. I'm not apologising for that either.


	3. Drowning in your Taste

- Ryuzaki -

"I can't fucking BELIEVE you!"

Anger, sharp and heated, accents each hurried syllable.

"It was an accident, Light-kun," I murmur, voice echoing the standard forced monotone. "I am merely human, and I was decidedly acting upon natural impulses."

My reasonable tone only serves to irritate the boy more, his bottled frustrations accumulating on his face - distorting his features into a strangely attractive pout.

"Human my arse! you never even feel anything unless it is of benefit to you! Don't try to get out of this one with such bullshit excuses. You KNEW what you were doing."

I hate it. I hate you think I'm some kind of computer - my emotional control is necessary from a professional standpoint, but you don't see that. I lie and manipulate but so do you. We play our games and that is all you see, eyes fixated on the playing board without any regard for your opponent.

"If you are unable to deal with the consequences you should not initiate such conflicts. My response was merely a result of your provocation, and I wish you would regard it as such. Please calm down."

Then he laughs. Not his usual amused laugh, slightly throaty and dreadfully seductive, but a restrained chuckle with a slightly bladed edge which nevertheless is alluring in its own right. His sculpted chest shakes, dislodging the thin shirt and revealing a few more millimetres of perfect neckline, distracting me from my previous aggravation. The younger boy continues with his petty arguments, raving about our insignificant altercation that is suddenly threatening to slip my mind.

"It was only a cake, Ryuzaki! Just go and get another one - you don't need to start a damn war whenever you go a few minutes without sugar!"

"Hmm...?" I try to retie the strings, and I am once again shocked by the wonderful mans cruel misdemeanor.

"You still seem to get a kick out of murdering innocents, Kira?" Its a petty jab but I'm eager to get back to the distraction of the investigations, and I know this move only seems to tire him.

"You were going to eat it anyway..."

"So you're not denying your connection?"

"It's just a bloody cake! this has NOTHING to do with the case!"

I sigh, clutching the fabric of my chair between nimble toes. The irrationality plagues me again, the damning impulses set alight by the presence of the lean boy. his unnecessary passion and intensity seems catching, as I find myself battling sudden urges - eager to do things that will likely only intensify his anger.

"Say, can you still... taste it?"

He shoots me a confused glance, and I can see his intelligent eyes reeling, attempting to decipher my intentions. I can't help but lean forward, longing to taste those ravishing lips - and as I steadily approach, his eyes widen comically as he notices my gaze lingering upon his slightly parted lips, driven by an insistent need to feel; to taste each inch of him.

I feel him shudder as our lips meet - his well-defined muscles tensing under the light fabric of his clothing as I exert a slight pressure on his too-soft lips.

Why do you not pull away?

encouraged by his passive acceptance, my tongue traces along his lower lip, moistening it. The taste is sweet as I expected, as minuscule particles of oversweet frosting cling to his lips mingling with the slight, salty taste of his sweat. He exhales heatedly, and I feel his luscious breath dance over my chin.

Why do you not run?

And then I am startled by a sudden sensation. He lightly caresses my arms, fingers lighting fires under my tingling flesh as his lips meet mine once more.

The timid meeting of lips turns into a fierce, electrifying battle as our tongues vie for dominance - I begin to drown in his dulcet taste as raw, carnal need threatens to take control, inspiring lewd thoughts that drive my intensity.

I need you.

We gasp for air, our shallow breaths uniting in the narrow void between our lips, exciting us both further. He grabs fistfuls of my loose shirt, gasping as my fervorous tongue traces the shape of his defined jaw and leaves a trail of saliva - hot and wet - down the side of the mans delicious, toned neck. His rapid, needy breaths halter as I bite at his pronounced collarbone, enticing a gentle moan from the brunettes eager lips.

I can't.

I can't have you.

And I know - I know what you've done and the people you killed. The lies you tell.

I can't help but feel like a lamb being lead to slaughter, the unwelcome vulnerability is frightening and I dread that this is what you wanted.

I push him away, and at first a flash of real hurt flashes in his eyes before he composes himself.

I feel sick - I'm so _stupid _and I know I've endangered everyone with my foolishness.

"I can't do this." I whisper. "I'm sorry."

And it's true. I am.


	4. He who moves first

** A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviews! You kind words and criticisms inspire me ;)**

**Unfortunately, my ancient, crappy keyboard has an evil shift button that refuses to function unless I maul the keys, so while I try to read through several times to make sure there are no grammatical errors I sometimes miss some capitalizations. I hate it but I apologise anyway.**

**Thank you for reading, a bit of story now ****_(ugh, story? Who wants that?)_**** but I warn/enthusiastically tell you that there might just be some delicious lemon on the way. Mmm, citrus!**

** -Nocturnallament**

- Light -

Droplets meander around the suspended image, clarity marred by a thin veil of condensed vapour.

The face staring back is undoubtedly my own - the familiar russet locks fall in place, moist from the steam of the long forgotten shower, and the familiar chocolate eyes stare intently, echoing the raging conflict inside.

Intelligent, attractive, athletic, talented, gifted, successful, popular - all empty compliments heard so often that they have lost all meaning. I don't care what they think. I don't want to care what anyone thinks.

But I can't help but wonder what I mean to you.

A pawn? A killer? An object of affection or an object of sexual desire? Am I simply another man for you to project your sexual frustrations onto? Do I perhaps mean something, anything; just a fraction of what I feel for you?

The way you held me yesterday was gentle yet firm, a warm touch that felt almost loving. Your rash advancements were taken as a sign of returned affection, your lustful gaze mirroring my own. I felt your heat and I reflected it, I took your longing grasp and revelled in it.

And then you turned and left.

Are you playing with my emotions? Do you know how I feel? I could tell you expected violence; for me to yell and hit you. To deny you, but how could I?

You can't deny you wanted me - your desperate hold, your lips as forceful as my own. I felt your need against my thigh, hard and insistent.

Why did you leave me? One moment you were bewilderingly passionate, the next you couldn't look me in the eyes.

You were frightened. Do I scare you?

Then it all seems so obvious, I can't believe it hadn't occurred to me the second you left.

You are afraid of your own emotions, I have long known that. Whatever you feel... it drove you to want me. The suspect. The man you think has mercilessly killed hundreds. Kira.

I understand it now. We are too alike for our own good, as we both fear these revelations - torn between reason and impulse. We both stand uncertain, conflicted.

Simple, then. I bury my daemons and you bury yours. This pride of mine, this...denial? I would throw it away if I could have you. I don't know what you want from me. Perhaps a one night stand? A release? Companionship? Mere sex or something more? Whatever it is, I need it. I need it because I need you and I'll take whatever I can get.

I need you to trust me, but I know that is an unrealistic request. You need to understand there is more to our twisted relationship than mind games and Kira vs. think I want to control you. Manipulate you. It scares you because you think intimacy is just another battleground.

My motives aren't pure, and my fantasies even less so. I'm selfish, impulsive and indulgent, and I want you to fuck me until I'm writhing and screaming, but I need to show you I'll let you take control, to let everything be in your own terms. No misinterpreted maliciousness or reasons to fear. No power struggle, no epic fallout.

Think of what he thinks Kira would do, and do the opposite. Be loving, put myself out just for him. Seems simple on paper, but the thought of being submissive was an uncomfortable one. Perhaps passive is a better word choice, but it doesn't really change the implications. The pain he could handle, but being so open and vulnerable, to let L see me so... unadulterated was not an incredible prospect. For a man who has spent most of his life in a mask, showing people what they want to see regardless of his true feelings, this unknown territory seemed to be one to traverse with caution. I know this, but I can't help but crave his touch - to feel our mutual lust coalesce into something raw and passionate.

Okay, Ryuzaki - the battle is on. You fear I'm playing a game so I will. Don't fret though, _dear_, once you realize my intentions I'm sure you'll thank me that I did. You can't run from what you want, what we both want. You are a master of deception but we both know you can't lie to yourself, or even to me.

I turn on the balls of my feet, sudden positivity now flowing through me, as I reach for a bottle of strawberry shampoo - an odd purchase made in a pitiful attempt to convince you to tame your wild hair.

"The game is on," I muse as I crack open the untouched seal of the bottle, releasing the sickly sweet fragrance into the damp air.

"After all, he who moves first _always_ wins."


End file.
